My Heroes
by LadyZotalot
Summary: How exactly do you thank a superhero? Artemis, with the help of her teammates, attempts to thank some of the mentors through a succession of misadventures. Lots of Robin/Artemis bonding. RoyxArtemis later on.
1. Realism, Elevators, and Sex Jokes

**Prologue: Realism of the Jaded Mind**

When I first received my scholarship to Gotham's most prestigious scholarly institute, I immediately assumed that Green Arrow had been my anonymous patron. Good things never happen in my life because of some lucky star. For me, most strokes of luck come by the string pulling of my self-proclaimed mentor. Oliver Queen must sometimes think of himself as my puppet master or, better yet, fairy god-mother at this point.

It would have been nice if for once the world had given me a miraculous gift because I earned it. It would have been nice, but I am and will always be a realist. Therefore, I know that, more than likely than not, Queen was in fact involved with my new found academic standing at Gotham Academy.

Green Arrow just _always _has to be involved. That's how all these rich, know-it-all, Justice League big shots act. When they find some 'poor' and 'distraught' damsel like me they think: "Wow! I'm an awesome (totally not self-centered and just getting over my sidekick dumping me) master of the universe! Maybe today I'll go butt into the life of some poor unfortunate who's _totally incapable_ of handling herself without my magic money band-aids!"

Well, Queen, you're going to have to gag me with a (silver) spoon if you don't want me to complain about that attitude of yours.

It must be the curse of theses super-hero types. They want to save the world one lost, teenaged, and trained from birth criminal at a time.

By giving me this scholarship, Queen was swooping in once again to save the day as he saw fit. His mother hen attitude makes me want to have my own infamous hat tossing moment in the middle of the school cafeteria. The thing is, Queen must not make me _that_ angry because none of my schooldays at Gotham Academy have ended in such dramatic outbursts.

Sure, I could pretend that Queen only ever helped me because he's a bleeding heart liberal mixed with some rich guilt mumbo-jumbo with a large helping of a major hero complex and a dash of chauvinistic knight-errant on top. But again, I'm a _realist_ and, _realistically, _no one who isn't honestly a great, heroic, caring man would do as much for me as Ollie did and continues to do. He's still prideful as hell, but everyone's got their faults...

Ollie helped me and, more importantly, my mom get out of the worse of a really bad situation; the type of situation where I was in way over my head but was still trying to tread water and gulp for air. I am, needless to say, eternally grateful to Ollie for doing doing just that one thing, but that's not even the half of what I owe him for.

I didn't want to be where I was. Ollie saw that I needed a way out and he saw how much pain, sweat, and struggle it would take to help me... and yet he helped me anyways. To this day, he still hardly knows who I am, but doesn't force me to open up.

I am a stranger. I am a stranger who has done terrible things. I could easily have faulty loyalties (I don't) and turn on him at any moment (I wouldn't, I don't have the hat for it). I am a loud mouthed and rebellious teen who barely cooperated when Green Arrow was trying to help me make a break for a new life. I still keep some secrets and feel guilty when Green Arrow tries to help me more.

Queen saw how underneath my hardness, sarcasm, deadly skill, and hulking denial of weakness, I _was_ (somewhat) lost and uncertain...

I can never express how agonizing it is to feel helpless, as if every option you could take has more downsides than upsides or how it feels to have your entire self-worth built around your skill with a bow and arrow or how you hate yourself when you see a _weapon_ as your pride and happiness and ecstatic joy and are disgusted with yourself every time someone asks (read demands) you to use that beloved skill for a purpose you find completely despicable and demoralizing.

The doors Ollie opened for me were doors I had been clawing at for my whole existence. Ollie let a girl who had been told that she was incapable, useless, helpless, and worthless without the secret missions she did at night remember that she _is_ capable, useful, helpful and worthy. Then, he set me up with a way to be a family with my mother and still be an archer. Also, he found me a team.

I don't know Red Arrow or Speedy or whatever his name is all that well, but according to _my_ team (I secretly love calling them that) when Green Arrow took me on as his new protégé and put me on the team Speedy _should_ have been a part, he furthered the rift between himself and Roy (Oh, look, I remembered his name). Ollie put finding me the life I wanted before his relationship with the guy he considered his son for years before he ever knew I existed. Is there anything that could be more heroic than self-sacrifice?

I put my frustration due to my ineptitude (and, since I like to complain, the rest of the world in general too_) _out on Ollie and he takes it all in stride.

I caused strain to his partnership, made him lie to other heroes (like I would let any uncle of mine run around with that ridiculous goatee), and stole a place in his private life even though I don't let him in my own. I am a liability and yet, Arrow willingly made himself my hero and my friend (and my fairy god-mother, I can't forget that).

Oliver Queen gave me a life that I can be proud of living. He gave me the power to retool my focus and master my skill by saving people instead of destroying them. Thanks to him, I am a hero. Well, mostly thanks to myself because I'm just that awesome, but Ollie helped _some_ and that means something to me.

I used to think that being a realist meant that I couldn't believe heroes like Green Arrow exist. His helping me hurts so bad; I feel terrible that I never thought to be as selfless as him. I was jaded and never believed in the kindness of others (unless we're counting my mother). If I didn't think there were heroes like him and never tried to become a hero like him, then what kind of person does that make me?

I feel like I need to repay Queen and don't know how. I don't know how to explain this uncertainty to him but every day I say nothing the gnawing in my stomach grows deeper. I never show him how much what he did for me mattered. I, one of the most capable people I know, feel incapable when it comes to this. Owing something to him makes me restless and frustrated. I never wanted to ask anyone for help and I never did. Ollie helped me on his own and somehow that makes it even worse.

The voice in my head which sounds suspiciously like my father whispers:"Maybe you were better off where you were before the archer. At least you knew where you stood and didn't have these insecurities. You did what you had to and that was that."

I will never listen to that voice again because I have my life that's worth living to fight for. Ollie believes that I have the strength to live my life as a hero; I cannot let him down.

This is my new life where I feel like I have power and truly have it; Where I can do whatever I please whenever I please. I want to run my own life without having to rely on others for once because if I don't then I'll feel indebted to those helpers and unworthy of their favors until I can pay them back. I don't like owing people favors; in my experience, you never know what others will ask in return. To say the least, it can be _messy_.

I made it clear to Queen that I couldn't accept more from him. I told him my private life was off limits. My mom and I are going to try being on our own. I won't have to feel guilty and will be sure that, in my life outside the bow and arrow, I've paved my own way.

I am not incapable. I am not a charity case. I am my own person. This is why Ollie and I have an agreement.

When I think of my scholarship to Gotham Academy, I worry that Queen may have opened his checkbook to a chain of rich elite who know someone who knows someone to indiscreetly get me into the school. I cannot believe Queen didn't foresee that I'd notice his obvious assistance. Queen should realize I know by now that he's the one looking out for me whenever life turns my way. After all, no one gets two guardian angels; that would be_ unrealistic_.

I am thankful to Queen, so I'm not really that angry. But it hurts for him to break our agreement and that means I am still somewhat angry. And sort of angry for me is enough to be life threatening for him.  
>But maybe, just maybe, there's been some fluke. Maybe some else arranged this scholarship. Maybe it's my dad toying with me or something. I don't know.<p>

Honesty, I need Ollie to have respected my boundaries even if they're silly and not in my favor. I have a shortage of people I trust and I want Ollie to still be one of them. I just don't want to repeat the trust issues that Queen had with Mr. Yet-Another-Annoying-Redhead. Even Oliver will hate me if I accuse him of going against our agreement to get me this scholarship if it turns out he wasn't involved.

I don't want to lose him. I will cool my fury for once and belay my accusation. I will not erode away Queen's current high tolerance for my irrationality. And so I will make sure Ollie is involved in this silver-lining scholarship or else I'll never forgive myself for jumping to conclusions to harp at a guy who's done nothing but help me, even if that help sometimes feels a little condescending.

This is the beginning of Operation: Charity Case.

* * *

><p><strong>Part One: Mid-lift Crisis<strong>

I have to say that the most aggravating thing about being a hero is denying yourself the use of certain abilities in your civilian identity. As Artemis Crock, I can't hit the far side of a barn. As Artemis Crock, I can't sneak around without crunching leaves loudly. As Artemis Crock, I can't differentiate from Green Lantern and Green Arrow.

Meanwhile, the team's Artemis is precise and accurate. I take pride in my stealth and agility. I have meet Green Lanterns who don't even serve the sector that includes Earth (Okay, so I was only in the same room with them and Green Arrow didn't introduce me or anything, but still.)

My point is that the only thing that keeps Artemis Crock from being Artemis the superhero is what I allow myself to do.

Unfortunately, breaking and entering is one of the things Artemis Crock is not, under any circumstances, allowed to do. This isn't just because I prefer keeping my record clean or showing that civilian Artemis doesn't know how to pick a lock. This is about not getting kicked out of the school I just got into, so breaking in to the office as Artemis Crock is a no go.

But if I want to break in as a cape, I run the risk of being found investigating the money trail of my scholarship without a motivation that includes superhero stuff instead of mundane, normal civilian identity stuff.

Of course, I don't think I _would_ get caught if I just barged in to the school office one night, but I rather not risk it if I have other options. And, quite frankly, in this case I do.

There is no good reason why Artemis Crock would not be trying to figure out _how_ exactly she got this one in a lifetime scholarship to Gotham Academy. In fact, it seems every rich snob I meet wants to figure out the same thing.

Yes, I am not a slouch in my studies. Yes, I bring diversity to campus life. Yes, my mother happens to be a handi...capable single mother making me appropriately needy. These things might be why someone would find my application interesting. (If there had been an application that is, but nobody besides my mother knows that there wasn't. No need to make myself stand out anymore than I already do, right?)

So, I know that people are always assuming these are the reasons why I got my foot in the door, but now I hear the other students whispering about what it was about me that made that door then fly open.

Am I a master violinist? Do I plan to cure cancer? Was that my rich, estranged aunt on the phone? Am I the mayor's secret lovechild? Did I screw the headmaster? Did I invent Facebook?

Who the hell knows.

I told a few kids that I was a five minute reality star on that one MTV show...you know the one with the thing... and most people claimed they totally remembered that and loved me on it and that one time I did whatever and whatchamacallit.

Morons.

Anyways, so Artemis Crock can just enter the office of Philip Wilcox, Dean of Financial Aid, and make some inquiries...if she can just get the hell out of this bloody elevator.

My God! This thing moving is just like Baywatch when someone tells him to move his eyes from _down there_ to _up here_ i.e they both take their sweet goddamn time.

_whung whung whin whi clunch_

Yes, I'm screwed. This elevator is stuck like not moving, going nowhere, I hope you're not claustrophobic S-T-U-C-K. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I am not claustrophobic. I've been on enough stakeouts and break-ins as part of my past and present lives to know that small spaces only close in on you when you lose your cool, and I _never_ lose my cool so claustrophobia is not the issue. The issue is that the only person I know in this apartment building is my mother who I am so not calling to rescue me.

I promised her this place would be great.

"Look at the rent-control, Mom; the place is a bargain," I told her. "Look, isn't that a nice shade of pea-green on the back-splash. No, it doesn't look like baby food; it's just the lighting, Mom. Look at that A/C, Mom. No, I'm sure they'll fix it for us, Mom. And look, there's a elevator, Mom. No, it's not old; it's retro and perfectly safe, Mom."

Calling my mom is not an option if I want to keep my promises. Besides, she's at work right now. She's a bookkeeper at the community center down the street. And yes, she could easily take an early leave and help me out, but I don't want to make her do that. I can fix this myself.

I fought the landlord on her weekly "maintenance fees", replaced the light in the bathroom to a bluish LED that hides the baby food tile, and fixed the A/C myself with some elbow grease and frustrated pounding. There's no chance that I can't find a way to solve this retro elevator problem too without Mom knowing.

Thank God I'm wearing boots and gloves today. I jump on the paneling's arm-guard and lay against the wall. Pulling out my pocket knife, I pry open the emergency panel. I throw myself upwards and the grips of my gloves luckily find purchase on the edge of the opened ceiling before I begin dropping downwards.

On top of the elevator, I can see that the lift is between levels. My legs and arms are tightly wound around the elevator cable as I inchworm my way upwards.

I find the ledge for the floor hatch. It is wide enough to grab hold of and then stand on.

I can make the leap to the floor's hatch if I can get the right angle. I pull myself above where I want to go and fall sideways to grab at it. During my descent, I catch the ledge in my gloved fingers and grunt. I am looking downwards at the elevator cart and thinking of elevator music rather than the sound my body would make if I fell.

I use the pressure of pushing tight against the wall of the elevator shaft to stand upright. My pocket knife plunges once more and pulls at the seams of the hatch. It gives way and I tumble upwards and inwards. My body lands in a pouncing pose by force of habit.

A stunned baby-faced preteen removes his eyes from his Gameboy long enough to take notice of what I've just done. The completely not normal, run of the mill, not a superhero thing I've just done. Yeah.

"I'm the elevator inspector. You're elevator failed my test. It should never take," I look at my watch, "three minutes and forty-nine seconds to escape a broken cart. Standard evacuation time is three minutes flat. Have your parents contact your landlord and have her make the proper updates to code, sir," I tell him, swatting at the dust on my outfit all the while. I give him what I hope is a sincere smile and make my way to the stairwell.

The landlord will be confused, but she'll get the message. As long as I convince Mom to stay at her boyfriend's place this weekend, then I'll have until Monday for the lift to be fixed without her knowing it ever broke down.

I pull my ponytail out and run my hands through my hair. Fingering a new hole on my jacket, I bet I don't look my best right now. I decide the sloppy look will have to do when I hear the angry ramblings of a mother scolding the neighbor boy I just meet for making up ridiculous stories about the elevator police. I am not showing my face around here for a while.

I turn on my heel and run down the stairwell; onwards to the subway and then to the Dean's office.

Operation: Charity Case cannot be stopped.

* * *

><p><strong>Part Two: Of Sex, Wilcox, and Dick (In That Order)<strong>

I'm winded by the time I reach the building, having run the whole way once I exited the subway. I stop and hold my aching ribs. Sometimes, I forget that my meta teammates are not around to chastise me if I don't keep up. Not that I_ could_ keep up with speedsters or the like; I mean an annual Superman versus Artemis race for the title of Fastest (Wo)Man Alive would never gather crowds. It's just that being around that kind of ace ability messes with your head. You have to go above and beyond you best or else you're not trying. Robin gets it. In fact, he may have invented it for our generation. He _is_ the first sidekick for a reason.

School let out almost two and a half hours ago, but the doors are unlocked for all the after school activities and clubs. In fact, I've joined the Latin club and we have a meeting in thirty minutes.

My mom basically ordered me to join a club so I could make friends and have something good for my college application. I take Latin because I love the irony. Why learn a language that no one speaks?

I speak tiếng Việt and some French well enough that I'm not missing out on the bilingual incentive and can waste my time with Latin. It has grown on me though. _Latium est vitam_ as our teacher says.

There's some interesting kids in Latin Club too. I mean, we don't really do anything Latin related in Latin Club. We eat Italian food and play games mostly. Today, we're playing mat ball in the new gym. It is "Latin-y" because we call it _pila tapetum_ and score the game in Latin. Except we never get past six (_sex_) because the boys refuse to. If we're at eleven to five then the score is _sex et sex et subtrahit unus versus sex et subtrahit unus_. See, they got to say _sex_ three times. How fun.

Okay, so most of the guys on the Latin club are about as mature as the kids who cram crayons up their noses, but that isn't everyone. In fact, the youngest kid in the class seems to be the most mature half the time. Probably because he's grown up with kids making fun of his unfortunate name: Dick.

After I deal with the office, Dick might be able to help me out some more. Apparently his adoptive father is the one and only Bruce Wayne...as in my Wayne Foundation scholarship's fop billionaire backer Bruce Wayne so maybe Dick can give me a general idea of how the Wayne Foundation works and therefore get me one step closer to seeing how Ollie could have gotten me into this school.

Dick is an agreeable guy, but maybe he'll be mad that I'm using him for intel. It's best to not let him realize I'm doing just that. I rather not hurt the feelings of one of my only friends at this place. At least, I'd like to keep my delusion that we are friends alive. I doubt he thinks so much of our relationship. A gifted, rich, easy-going kid like Dick probably has dozens of hanger-ons and can't take the time to realize I've become one of them. It's not my fault that I want to be his friend so badly. The kid just feels familiar. Like I've known him in some other life. Sometimes, I slip up and act myself around him. The not quite superhero and not quite normal civilian me. Yeah, sappy me is not pretty. Moving on.

Philip Wilcox, Dean of Admissions and Financial Aid, has an office within the spacious wing that makes up part of the new addition. Apparently, Gotham Academy took Amazo's damage to the gym as a way to sneak in unnecessary updates to the faculty offices among other things. I should be agitated by the irresponsible waste of funds by these privileged eggheads, but I'm not. Their greed is good news for me today.

Less mess. Life doesn't have to always be complicated, right? When people have to move their office, the new office is temporarily a lot more organized. Because of the transition from one room to another, the secretary will have rearranged the paperwork she's kept into orderly file cabinets with color coded labels; the paper work she hasn't kept she will have uploaded to the school sever. This means that when I distract the dean so that I can do a little investigating, I won't spend as much time rummaging around.

What? Just because I'm not breaking in doesn't me I'm just going to politely take whatever no nothing response Wilcox gives me. I'm here for answers and I mean real answers; Answers to what I should say the next time I see Queen.

I stop outside the door to the new offices to get my bearings. I thought over my plan of action on the subway ride, but a plan is never too perfect to be analyzed once more.

The regal, mahogany door of the renovated addition is pushed open by an exiting student right as I reach for the handle. The door is nearing towards me, somehow in slow motion. I recognize the guy who is about to impound my face with this grand, heavy, overpriced slab of wood. The lanky redhead is one of the less mature kids from the Latin club. My mind fumbles for his name but the only relevant thought that I can find in the short span before my nose is reconstructed is that in class we call him Caesar. I guess it's better than nothing.

"Caesar!" I call out to him hastily before he jams the door into my face. His gangly height thrusts out a long leg to catch the door a moment to late. The wood surface bumps into the planes of my stupefied face.

"Ow," I mumble. I remove my gloves and rub the reddening skin. Caesar's frown gives me the distinct impression that I now look like a glorified tomato. Note to self: Artemis Crock in the future shall have the reflexes to jump out of the way of a stupid door; I don't care if Artemis the superhero has good reflexes as well. Nothing so embarrassing and painful is worth it, secret identity be damned.

Caesar looks at me dumbly. I guess he's too prideful to say sorry.

"I'll see you in the gym. Just go get me some ice from the nurse's office, kid." I throw him a scowl and he accepts my command, shuffling off on his unwieldy legs.

Briefly, I wonder if I was too hard on him; after all, he can't help it that he hasn't grown into his body yet.

The secretary takes one look at my tomato face and momentarily loses her grip around her paper coffee cup. Caesar or whoever he is will just have to get over some ruffled feathers. I'm not feeling too charitable right now.

"Not another one," I swear I hear the secretary say under her breath.

"I had a run in with the door. Real quality materials around here," I say flatly. She plasters a fake smile on her face and ignores my comment.

"Is there something I can help you with, Miss..?"

"Crock," I supply. "C-R-O-C-K. First name's Artemis. Like the goddess." I glace sideways at the gilded mirror beside the desk. She notices my peek and crumples her lips.

"The nurse is still in. Maybe you should go have that knock looked at," she suggests.

"A friend of mine is getting an icepack," I tell her, glad it's the truth. At least the pain relieving icepack part is true if not the friend part. Close enough. "It's fine. My mom will kill me if I don't talk with Mr. Wilcox today." I run a thumb against my sore cheek. "If she doesn't kill me for ruining my pretty face anyways that is." The secretary doesn't lightens up at my attitude, but at least she occupies herself with her job rather than my bruise.

"Well, what can Mr. Wilcox do for you?" she asks. I give her the line I've prepared.

"I want to go over what my scholarship entails. The qualifications I have to keep up with, that kind of thing." I watch her contemplating. She looks at the clock and then at her half spilled coffee. She bites her lip.

"Mr. Wilcox will be happy to see you. If you could just wait a moment, Miss Crock," she informs me in a sugary sweet voice. I smile broadly, ignoring the mild tenderness in my cheeks as I do so.

Looking for a seat, I notice another person. His tiny frame is sprawled across the ruby sofa which takes up most of the space in the adjoining waiting room. He has a mismatched cushion, apparently stolen from the black chaise at the corner of the room, hiding his head. The cord of an earbud set is weaved beneath the cushion to reach his concealed ears.

He is wearing the school uniform so I know he's a student; a student who has been stuck here since school let out and hasn't had time to change. Poor kid. Uniforms are not the most comfortable things to fall asleep in. I nudge him, accidentally if he asks, as I sit to his right.

He groans absentmindedly and shifts away. "Juhstuh menutt, Alfrudd," he unintelligibly mutters. Even underneath the muffling of the pillow, I can place Dick's voice. I should have known by his petite but muscular build. There aren't many kids like that. I guess it's a gymnast thing.

"Dick?"

"Mor rakker sa drovan," he whispers. His voice is crisp as if his seemingly meaningless words are a command.

"What was that? Move the pillow, I can't understand a word you're saying," I bark, my hands already wrestling away the cushion and throwing it across the room. I scoot myself far enough to see into the entryway. Luckily, the secretary, too busy packing up her things to go get another coffee from the cafe down the street, was unable to see my pillow toss. I leave Dick to retrieve the scattered pillow.

When I turn back around, I am completely unprepared for what I see. Dick, yawning, fingers his rumbled hair. Normally, he has his hair greased back, nothing but orderly for the son of Gotham's richest man. His ears look larger without his locks slicked over their tops. He blithely reaches his hand underneath the dark, designer sunglasses that hide a black eye and a reddish impression that looks vaguely reminiscent of a textured doge-ball. I guess I was late for that game of _pila tapetum_.

I can't stop starring at his bespectacled face. I can't stop feeling like an idiot. I'm not a sappy person. He and him knew each other in past lives? The reality of Hawkman aside, what was I thinking?

I am a realist and, realistically, the reason I feel like I know Dick is because I _do_ know Dick. I know that impish, smug, petite, graceful, tech savvy, kindly _boy wonder_.

And he knows that I know now. I can see it. I can see it in the way he pulls his sunglasses from his eyes. In the way he calmly places them in his breast pocket. In the way he combs his hair back to normal with a flick of his wrist. In the way he raises his eyebrows and smirks. In the way reaches up from his short height to place a hand on my shoulder. In the way he talks to me.

"So, Arty, how whelmed are you today?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

This isn't Artemis/Robin unless you guys want it to be? I'm open to suggestions.

Dick was speaking the Romani language which he learned from his parents; '_Mor rakker sa drovan_' means "talk quieter".

Artemis would have ignore this command even if she had understood what he was saying. ;)


	2. Friendly Chats and Silences

**Part Three: Friendly Chats and Silences**

How whelmed am I? None. Not at all. I have _no_ reason to be whelmed. It's not like my mentor broke his promise to me. It's not like the elevator of my apartment complex must be fixed without my wheelchair bound mother noticing. It's not like my face is throbbing or that the seconds the secretary will remain away from her information rich computer are quickly ticking by. It's not like I just found out the Boy Wonder's secret identity or anything.

I know it's ironic coming from me, but, sometimes, I just hate sarcasm.

I figure I have another second or two before Robin decides that his reveal has made me finally crack and ships me off to Arkham Asylum with the rest of the nut-jobs. With a calming breath, I focus my thoughts.

This isn't the end of the world. In fact, it's kind of awesome when you think about it. It's I, Artemis Crock, who learns Robin's other persona out of all the people in Gotham or even the world who are begging to know it.

The best part is that both Robin and Dick are my friends. Okay, so, on the down side, them being the same person means I have one less friend technically, but that's beside the point.

Dick could have been angry at me for figuring out he is Robin. More likely, he could have been angry at himself for letting me figure it out. He could have complained about how all the people he _really_ wanted to know don't get to know and yet I do. But he didn't. Instead, he is relaxed about this. Dick even made a joke to help me relax. "How whelmed are you today?" Seriously! Dick must have been waiting to use that one for ages.

So, I guess all my realism has gone to shit as it turns out I should have been wishing on a star because some magic fairy has just sent me exactly what I need to solve the Ollie problem: a wing-man. I'll have to reevaluate my stance on wishing upon stars later because, right now, I'd rather take action.

"No, I'm great. In fact, you're just what I needed." I wave him off like I have a Rolodex of every superhero's I.D. back at my secret underground fortress.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he questions suspiciously. He attempts to stare me down from his considerably smaller height.

"You're going to help be pull a con." I ignore his outburst of concern. "It will be fun. Think of it as team bonding, m'kay?" My lips curl despite myself. This is too much fun.

"It isn't team bonding when the team isn't here, Artemis," Dick helpfully points out.

See what I mean about him being a troll? Dick and I have a short stare off. It's his turn to smirk when he gets an idea.

"Just say the magic words," Dick says.

Wow. Just wow. These bats really can peg your problems, huh? After all, me not being able to say 'please' or 'thank you' is what got me into this mess in the first place. It may hurt my pride, but I can handle begging a little here if only because Robin getting what he wants will get me what I want too. It's a win-win.

"Fine. Dick, I would be eternally thankful if you could do me a favor because you're my friend who I don't want to blackmail into helping me. Know?" I really need to work on my sincerity. Another problem for another day.

"You've known my secret I.D. for less than five minutes and you're already using it against me?" he acts disturbed. The glint in his eye shows he's really just 'turbed, maybe even amused.

"I'm sure Wally took even less time to blackmail you, Dick." I mention this point as casually and as assuredly as possible and hope that puts Dick off balance.

"Well, yeah, duh. But he's Wally." Dick rolls his eyes. He realizes his mistake a second too late. "I mean...he would have if Wally knew my secret identity, but he doesn't?" Dick knows he isn't fooling anyone and phrases the denial as a question. He laughs and gives a small scowl.

"Not my day huh?" He rubs the red blotch on his face. "Whatever. Just don't tell Bats that Wally knows. Of course, Batman knows Wally knows. He just likes willfully denying the truth in all things Wally."

"Ignorance is a girl's best friend," I reply smartly.

"You just sort of called Batman a girl, Artemis."

"And is there something wrong with being a girl, Dick?" Dick sensibly backs off. His mother must have raised him well. I realize now that I haven't thought what it means that Dick is Robin.

His parents' tragic deaths right in front of his eyes. My god. That's why he's Robin. Dick seems to sense my change in demeanor. I know what it's liked to be pitied. Quickly, I clamp down on the sorrow and return to our conversation.

"What will Batman think of me knowing?"

"Well, he let you go to this school so, like, he must not care. There's only so much time you can spend around me without noticing how awesome I truly am, right? Especially when I made such a point of helping you fit in..."

"You did that on purpose? I thought you we're just..." I trail off.

"Boasting about how awesome my school is because I'm rich and fund half of the building?"

"Sorry. I have a class warfare issue sometimes," I admit.

"If sometimes means always then, yeah, you do." Dick gives a shit-eating grin.

"Don't get your scaly undies in a bunch," I counter.

"You did not just go there, Arty." He gasps melodramatically and pounds a fist to his heart.

"Well, I did so get over it..." The conversation ebbs to a stand still.

"I forget how this conversation started," Dick declares animatedly; I have some sort of idea.

"I think I said snark and then you said snarkity snark snark and then the world exploded."

"Good to know." He plays with the frames of his sunglasses, picking at the plastic around the tips.

"So, are you going to help me or what?" I ask pointedly. Dick weighs his options.

"I want to know what I'm getting into before I commit to doing it."

"With that attitude you're never going have a girlfriend," I can't help but mutter under my breath.

"What?" Dick asks.

"Nothing. I need you to hack something while I distract the dean. That secretary should be gone for a while longer. There's long lines at the java place around now."

"Hacking? That's all you want? That's like breathing for me. Blackmail is completely superfluous here, Arty. I can do that, no prob. What you do you want me to look for?"

"I need to know where my scholarship came from. I'm trying to connect the paper trial to Ollie. I mean, the scholarship is from the Wayne Foundation..." Dick's face pales. I cannot help but wonder why.

We had spent so much time talking about what Batman would think of Dick's I.D. being outed. I missed the real problem here, didn't I? Gotham and the world don't know Robin the way I do. No one else cares about his secret identity for real. What everyone else has realized is that knowing who Robin is also means knowing who Batman is. That's why everyone else cares about Rob's alter ego.

Dick, were you letting me talk about Batman so you could snicker at me until I realized that I now know his identity too?

"Dick?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why do I suddenly feel like I've learned two secret identities today?"

"Uh..."

"You wouldn't know anything about a pesky know-it-all control freak superhero who may have thrown some charity money at me, would you?"

That's my real problem. Oh, Robin knows how hard it is for me to say 'please' and 'thank you', doesn't he? And yet, here Batman is freely doing favors I've never asked for.

"Uh..." He is mortified, properly so.

"Dick!" I snap at him.

"It's not like I asked him to get you into school here or anything. He's Batman; he just...does things and waits for you to notice!" Dick removes himself from any blame. I sigh. Dick isn't the problem here. I am my own problem.

"I cannot believe I know who Batman is and my first reaction is to pummel him. I can't take on the goddamn Batman; I like having my limbs firmly attached thank you very much."

"Why do you have to attack him? He just wanted to help you out. He does that. It's in the job description of superhero, you know?"

I don't think I can explain my issues to Robin. I doubt I even understand it myself all the time.

I get that Batman's one of those problem solving types who doesn't let a job go undone. As nice of a platitude as that is, I never asked him for help. Who is he to decide that I need to go to some fancy school? Why can't anyone believe that I can make it out there in the world without their gifts?

I must be really pathetic is all these selfless heroes need so many band-aids to patch me up to their standards.

It isn't Batman's fault. Growing up rich must leave you oblivious to what it feels like to be given a gift you can't pay back. Bruce can't know the way your equal footing schisms and quakes around you, leaving you looking up to your hero as if he is on some pedestal while you are a beggar standing far down below, not fit to breathe the same air.

"I want to pummel him because if I don't do that then...I have to figure out a way to thank him. Oh my god, Dick. How do I say thank you to Batman? He's Batman!"

If my mother was here, she'd most likely scold me for my silliness. Where ever you are Mom, I don't care if 'Batman being Batman' is redundant. It explains my problem well, redundant or not.

"When I want to thank Bruce, I just sign the father's day card that my butler buys," Dick mentions quietly.

"Not helpful!"

"I also get him a new tie?" Dick adds.

"I am so screwed."

The conversation stops again and we wait in silence for the secretary to return. I don't need to hack anything now, or distract the dean, or whatever. Operation: Charity Case has gotten a lot more complicated.

When the secretary returns with a comically large mug of coffee, I tell her calmly that I've decided to meet with Mr. Wilcox later rather than sooner and will go find my friend with that ice instead.

Dick mumbles something about not filing a complaint against the kickball manufactures after all and follows me out the door.

We walk in companionable silence towards the nurse's office. Dick seems to be fine with not saying anything else, but I know I will never move past this feeling that is eating me up inside if I don't ask. Sooner is better than later in this case. I stop Dick and pull him into the girls' bathroom by the rumpled tie around his neck.

My face is only red because I still haven't gotten any ice for it. I am not crying. I throw some cool water onto my face as Dick makes sure no one else is in the room. He finds a mop in a corner and uses it to keep the doors closed. I regain my composure and turn to my friend.

"I never thought I'd have two heroes looking out for me. Does that make me a terrible person, Dick?" I ask, needing an answer from someone I trust.

"No. It just means people have done a good job making the world a terrible place most of the time. It's their fault not yours," he says as he approaches the sink where I stand. He jumps on top of the counter and sits beside a wayward squirt of pink soap suds.

"It's okay. Artemis, listen, Bruce...he didn't have to take me in after my parents were killed. Certainly, there wasn't some other random stranger in the audience who wanted to adopt damaged goods like me," he says. I want to tell him not to demean himself that way, but he holds up a hand knowing what is coming.

"That's what most people thought of me, that doesn't make it true. I know that. And I know that Bruce is just a better person than anyone could imagination in their wildest dreams." He turns to me conspiratorially. "If you tell him that, he'll blow you off. He'll remind you that he's only a product of nature and nurture."

His feet tap against the counter's base. "It took him telling me that a few times for me to to get it. What he's really saying is that he's only who he is because of his great parents. You...you had a screwed up father. That's hard to overcome," Dick pauses, "even with a mother as great as I'm sure yours is." I smile at that.

"Parents are our rightful heroes, Arty. I never thought I'd have more heroes than my mom and dad, but then I got another father in Bruce and, well, then there's Alfred, so I'm drowning in heroes now."

"What did I ever do to deserve Bruce or Ollie being my heroes? They're not my parents." I wonder aloud. Dick smiles.

"Well, Batman has adopted everyone on the team as his own in his heart, I can tell you that," Dick claims with a cheeky grin. He thinks a moment.

"Ollie, well, he has his own problems." He searches my eyes. "You know he has a son he's never meet living in a dojo in Tibet?" I hadn't known this and the genuine surprise shows on my face. Dick continues.

"Yeah. I think he...he wants to prove to himself that he was wrong about not being able to be a father. He wants to be fatherly to someone, be it you or Roy, because he gave up on that kid impossibly soon and he thinks there's no way he can fix his relationship with his son now. He can only vow to never make the same mistake twice. It's partially why Roy leaving hurt him so bad, I suppose."

"You...you really have the dirt on everyone, don't you?"

"It's my job, Artemis Wilfred Crock," he says. I laugh despite myself. That's not my middle name, but I like his joke anyways.

"Thanks, Dick. For the pep talk. I...I really need it." Dick really is mature for his age, part of the _sex_-y Latin club or not. Dick just keeps smiling and swinging his feet against the edge of the sink counter.

"Artemis, I'm not finished." What more could he possibly have to say? "You deserve heroes. You are a good person. Don't doubt yourself."

"Who, me? Doubt myself? Never. I'm a woman of class and you can count on that."

I let my words sink in. It's really what I've always known. I show that to everyone every day. It's just my fault for not correcting the little cracks of uncertainty that were showing up in my armor. I should have foreseen that eventually one day those doubts, left examined, would fester and sicken the rest of my true self. I am better than what my criminal father, or the stupid rich kids at my school, or anyone else labels me.

The one and only time I meet Wonder Woman, she asked me my name. I told it to her and she stopped rubbing the heel of her boot into the mook she was attacking. She looked at the henchmen around me who I had knocked out before she'd arrived and then she smiled at me. She told me to keep doing the name justice before launching back into the fray. I remember this encounter now and smile softly.

Dick and I are used to the lags in our conversations by now, but I really wouldn't mind moving past all this touchy-feeling stuff and getting to the action.

"Dick?"

"Yup?"

"Can I ask for a different favor?"

"You want hot-stuff Caesar's number right?" I ignore his comment and straighten my pony tail in the mirror.

"Do I have to blackmail you again?" I threaten him but he only rolls his eyes.

I try to change the mood of our chat. I need him to be serious for another moment. Not knowing what else to do, I pull him off the sink and force him to stand tall and look me in the eyes.

"I need help thanking Bruce. I need _your_ help, Dick. If you're my friend, please help me," I ask determinedly.

"I can do that no prob, Arty." He echoes his previous response. "But then who's going to help you thank me?"

He pretends to be in pain when I punch him on the arm.


	3. Dog Days which End Piss Poorly

**A/N: **GrayAreas and KnKCullen were nice enough to tell me that some people are unable to review this chapter. If you've reviewed what was chapter three under the old numbering then you will not be able to review this chapter three. Logging out to leave a review solves this problem**_!_**_**  
><strong>_

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><p><strong>Part Four: Dog Days<strong>

Double lives mean twice as much work when it comes to thanking my mysterious hero. Not only do I have to find ways to thank Bruce Wayne, but I have to also thank the Dark Knight himself. Meanwhile, I have to do all of this without letting the rest of my teammates wonder why I'm being so nice to Batman. It's the only way to avoid annoying personal questions.

For this reason, no one from my team except for Robin should be here with me on my operation to thank Batman. Of course, that's not what's happening. That's my life for you.

I asked Dick for help with thanking Batman. I asked _Dick_ not _Wally_ so why the hell is Wally the one currently standing on my open palms, accidentally pressing a yellow combat boot into my cheek whenever he shifts his weight? This shouldn't _really_ be what Dick wants in return for his help, but it totally is.

I should have foreseen this. Dick may be mature underneath, but he also likes to see other people squirm and today I am that unfortunate victim.

"Did we have to bring, _him_ along, Robin? I really don't see the-" I pause as the heel of Wally's foot intercepts the corner of my mouth, "appeal."

"Sorry, Arty." Robin looks away from his holo-display to give me an amused smile. "It wasn't like I could have _not_ told him that you know the Bat secrets."

"He's not the World's Greatest Detective, Rob. KF would have never figured it out if you hadn't blabbed."

"Do you know that I can hear you?" Wally asks from his perch on my palms.

"No, you can't," I insist. "If you could, then you would have heard the over nine-thousand times I told you to stop stepping on my vital organs!"

"Uh, sorry, Arty. It's way more gusty up here; can't hear a thing!"

"'Over nine-thousand? Your meme priorities are out of-"

I cut Robin off.

"Your _life_ priories are out of whack. Unless you give me a valid reason why Baywatch had to join in on this mission, then I'm tossing him over this fence and going home," I say with a snarl, because Wally could really use to lose a few pounds from where I'm standing.

Wally, from his height above, laughs meekly at my haughty glare. I think KF hadn't realized until now that me being his foundation means that his life is in my hands. Of course, I realized this from the get go. (I may like to watch other people squirm like little worms too; It's what makes Robin and I such good friends.)

"Uh, well, he had to come because of the bro code. He's entitled to the list of all who know any secrets he is privy to," Robin rationally explains. Another yellow foot edges closer to shattering my windpipe.

"Not. Good. Enough," I say, because that explanation really isn't. Dick sighs and turns off his wrist computer completely.

"Honestly, we need his speed. Dogs are vicious."

"Dogs?" I have to question Dick since he has taken to causing me pain by not explaining whatever it is we are doing tonight.

"Uh-huh. Not the cute and fluffy lapdog kind. These are the big, toothy, killer kind," Robin says breezily. The gusting winds that are blocking Wally's eardrums must have subsided because he all but yelps at Robin's words.

"Rob, man, I don't do rapid dogs. HA-healing may remove the pain in my body, but the mind shall remember it for eternity," Kid Flash claims.

"Drama queen," I mutter. Wally says nothing. The gusts of wind up there must be back. Yelling at Wally isn't fun unless he complains about it so I purposefully poke him in the shin with my manicured nails.

"Ouch!" Wally shouts. His body jerks around atop my palms. "The dogs are already trying to eat me, Robin. You've got to save me!"

Robin, like me, doesn't take Wally's concern seriously.

"Don't worry, Walls. I've got Bat dog repellant in my utility belt," he reassures. "You're looking for the complex marked 4CE. It should have a big-"

"Black dog guarding its entrance?"

"No," Robin corrects. "That isn't right." He takes to hammering his fingers across his hologram-display.

"Robin, maybe you should explain what the plan is before we have to change it to meet these new complications," I rationalize.

Wally nods along in agreement, eager to prolong his death by Fluffy, the Terrible. His nodding (at super-speed I might add) doesn't exactly make him easier to keep standing upright. He falls from my palms as I topple over and hangs by his fingers on the other side of the fence.

Unless KF does daily exercises to keep his digits in shape, he's going to be in a lot of pain tomorrow. His fingers slip and he falls three yards onto the craggy soil. That's definitely going to hurt tomorrow. Oh, wait! It won't because he has hyper-accelerated healing. I almost forgot about that. (And by 'almost forgot about that' I really mean that I never ever stop thinking about it at every moment of the day because I may or may not be a bit jealous.)

I feel some modicum of sympathy for my teammate (Okay, so he is my _friend_; I just don't play well with others) and pull a trick arrow from my quiver. The arrow makes a swooshing sound as it pulls through the air. I hear the scattering of dirt as the arrow-tip wedges itself into the ground on Wally's side of the fence.

A strong cable is attached to the end of the arrow. Robin and I grab our side of the line and instruct Wally to hold on. We pull him to safety with exaggerated effort.

"You're right, Artemis, I never should have brought him," Robin jokes.

"I'm in pain here, bro. Way to be sensitive," Wally chokes out. KF exasperatedly brushes the caking dirt from his red and yellow costume.

I watch as a few clods fly in my direction and land on my bare mid-drift. Ew. This is Robin's fault in the long run. I wipe away the mud, deliberately slow, with the edge of Robin's cape. The white lenses of his domino mask expand.

"Rob, could you please get this over with, preferably before I loose my cool?"

"Right. Here's the plan..."

* * *

><p>I start out the mission by climbing the oak tree nearest to the fence. When I am far into the sky, Robin motions to me to stop and I find a limb to rest on. First, I release a sleeping gas arrow to knock out the dog. Next, I pull out one of my flying fox arrows and shoot it at an appropriate angle into the ledge of the 4CE building's roof.<p>

Robin unfolds a zip-line trolly from his belt of tricks and places it on the cable. He attempts to give the handlebar to Kid Flash, but finds that the ginger has left his side in the blink of an eye.

I take the offered handlebar from Robin and start using the zip-line. When I next see Kid Flash, he is only a blur launching past me, using his running start to clear the fence. I cringe when I see how close his decent is to clipping the zip-line.

"Kid Flash," I snap over the comm line. "You could have just used the line and then climbed down the side of the building like Robin said to. No need to show off."

I make out Wally's smirk as I look down into the darkness over the side of the roof. KF speeds off to the central hub to disable all security cameras with the loop programing Robin set up.

Robin swings down the zip-line. Instead of waiting to reach the end of the cable, he does a pretentious flip and lands on the roof hands held high as he waits for my applause.

Fine. If everyone is going to show off, then wait until they see me. I can play that game, boys.

According to Robin, the skylight on this roof was removed from the building plans, but is still actually here.

"That, " the caped boy points towards an assortment of plants, "is where we'll make our entrance."

Reaching the herbs, Robin checks for illegal substances. Meanwhile, I push aside the largest pot (of pot?) and peel away the moldy faux grass carpet to reveal a large wooden board. I find the skylight beneath the board. The opening is rigged shut by a high-tech digital lock. Who doesn't love a challenge?

I pull ten round metal objects from by pack and clip them onto the tips of my gloved fingers. I tap the devices together like little castanets. Sensing this movement, they glow neon green. You don't have to be a Bat in order to have all the cool toys.

Dick notices my devices and, intensely interested, turns from his testing of the suspicious plants in order to watch me carefully. I guess that means I'm more intriguing than crack to him. How oddly flattering.

The trick to this tech, as I've learned from experience, is to find the right position to plant your pseudo-castanets. One wrong move of one little finger will not only crack the glass around the digital lock instead of shorting the system out momentarily but...could result in a fire. I explain this to Robin as I disarm the security and open the skylight. Voila.

"So...you want to be surreptitious instead of 'reptitious'?" he asks. I frown and he laughs. "Just trying it out; they're not all gems."

I remove the lock picking devices from my fingers and turn to face him.

"It's not your attempt to be the next great wordsmith that's got me miffed." My high ponytail swings wildly as I jerk my head towards the room below. "It's worse than you thought down there, Rob."

Without him having to ask, I send a knock-out gas arrow down the opening. The sleeping gas flows through every crevice of the room and slowly dissipates. Our footfalls are almost silent as we wriggle down from the skylight and enter the facility.

Rows upon rows of heavy duty cages line two walls. Molding yellow newspapers that stench of urine and excrement line the bottom of every other cage. Half of the cages lack such a stately privilege; the droppings and bodily fluids stain the small living space of the confined animals.

Mangled and ravaged dogs squeeze to fit inside their cages. I watch drool and spittle fall from the massive fangs of a pitbull who looks more dead than gassed. Gnats sit on his eyelids and eat the crusting rheum at his eyelashes. I pull out an arrow and poke the dog in the ribcage. It is, unsurprisingly, not breathing.

My heart must not be made of ice because at this moment I feel for all the little fluffy creatures of God's green earth like everyone else.

A faucet in the corner of the room drips. A blur of black comes from around the corner. I, after the blur reforms into a person, notice that KF has switched into the stealth mode of his costume. He turns the leaky faucet off. Kid Flash spreads his fingers across the brim of the sink. (I wouldn't really advise this after seeing its unspecified discolorations.)

His arm muscles tremor and he presses down hard on the sink's lip. My fingers itch to forcefully stop his nervous twitching. Robin moves before I can give in to my urge to help him. Robin grabs the other boy by his upper arms and twirls him around on the heel of his boot.

"Rob?" Wally whispers.

"Yeah, Walls."

"I understand why Batman wants this place out of commission." Robin wordlessly agrees and pulls the corner of his cape towards Wally's tear-stained eyes. He wipes carefully and then pulls away.

Robin punches Wally on the arm in the playful way I did in the school bathroom the day before. Kid gives a thumbs up and relaxes. His green eyes meet mine and as he returns his hands to their normal confident position atop his hips.

"Puppies are cute. You can't do experiments on puppies!"

I can't help but picture Wally as a kicked puppy after hearing his words. I smile despite myself. That's the spirit, Kid.

"Let's bring 'em down!" Wally says.

"Like dominoes before a toddler." Dick high fives Wally.

I'm going to have to reevaluate the state of Dick's maturity.

"Who's behind all of this and why?" I pull their attention back to the mission.

Dick pulls up a holo-screen with a slight twist of his hand.

"I've managed to connect the building back to Alva Industries, but they did a good job of hiding their tracks; it wouldn't surprise me if we find the paper-trail suddenly disappears the moment the cops show up."

Kid Flash eyes the cages sullenly.

"These dogs should be running free!"

"The dogs are _knocked out with sleeping gas_, Mr. Forgetful; they're not going anywhere," I remind Wally.

I eye the misshapen legs of some smaller furry forms. I think the gas is the least of their problems.

"Can I open the cages? I'm gonna open the cages!" Wally jumps around impatiently and tries to unlock all the cages at super-speed. He's promptly shocked by a security feature on the cage of a Boxer mix. A chirp and a beep sound from Robin's holo-computer.

"Shit. The security system made record of that just now. They can find us if they have any technical know-how. We've got to move fast or will find that the mooks who did this may have an ax to grind with us." Robin scowls.

"If they're coming anyways, send then a text and tell 'em that I'd like to stick this arrow up their-"

"Zero," Robin says, appalled. He darts around and counts the animals for survivors. He holds up two balled fists. Zero percent of the dogs are alive. At least that means the experiments haven't been successful.

"We can't let this continue," I grind out.

"Are we taking _these_ vials, Robs?" KF questions. He's already forgotten the zap that sent him to the floor a moment ago and is pawing his way through the files and supplies around the base.

"We're looking for a deeper bluish one."

Wally flashes away. He returns with a lagoon blue liquid.

"Like this?" The vial switches hands from KF to Robin.

"Score, KF. I'm looking for research notes on this." He shows our friend a schematic of a chemical formula. "I'm going to need your help. Stay on the look out you guys as I hack the computer terminals."

We make our way to the computer hub. Robin leads while Kid Flash and I flank him on either side. I draw an arrow just in case.

"Wait, so, like that's..." Wally's eyes flash with recognition. "It's Kobra Venom? I thought we destroyed that!"

Robin's scowl reforms.

"Guess we screwed up. We'll deal with that later," he says as he connects his cable to the databank. "The main research trial isn't at this location as far as I can tell."

"These are the long shoots," I say flatly. "That's why they're so _classy_."

"We need to panic them. A formula that takes time to find the recipe for and then even more time to cook up needs secrecy. Creating problems for them while they're trying to start back up is the only way to get them before they can get to production mode."

"Is there an anti-dote?" I ask. Robin keeps typing.

"For the dogs that have already been tested on? No. Not really." I expected as much. "It looks like only the last batch of serum hasn't worn off in time."

"Robin, how permanent the powers are doesn't really matter when as far as we can tell all the dogs end up dying." I crack a creak in my neck. "At least weapons that die before they can do their jobs aren't very in demand among the black market crowd."

"We don't know for sure if _all_ the dogs couldn't handle the tests," Wally insists meagerly.

"Wally," I shake my head, "I would be surprised if any of the tested dogs lived...they look like their bodies just completely failed."

"Yeah...they're shriveled up as if they are...overextended balloons that just popped," Kid Flash smacks his lips and flicks his fingers like exploding fireworks,"all the sudden."

"Thanks for that image there, Kid." I use a few tears to wash that image out of my eyes. "I'm going to check the rest of the base now for any unwanted visitors. Watch Rob's back for me."

"Yes, sir," Kid Flash says with a mocking salute.

* * *

><p>As I search the building, I find one too many dead-end hallways, twisting corridors, and pocket-sized offices. Someone paid good money to have this complex built like a maze<em> for a reason<em>. Robin's cross-referencing of the building plans proved that parts of this complex like that skylight have disappeared before. Who would bet that there's an entire secret facility around here somewhere?

Robin could use some easing of pressure right about now. He needs someone to distract any lurkers from what he's doing and I don't see anyone offering to help but me. I make a snap decision. I'm going to blow something up. I pull up my comm.

"Rob, I'm going to being making some noise."

"Covering our ears," Kid Flash buzzes back not getting the point.

I jog to a wing far from the computer labs. This section of the building is particularly strategically staged. Tight hallways and sharp corners that could hide another space are plentiful. One arrow properly placed and I could let someone know just what I think of their secret clubhouse.

I choose my target and launch my arrow. With the three ticks it takes for my bomb to knock down the wall I accomplish three things. First, I find the hidden rooms. Secondly, I find the proprietors of this classy establishment. Lastly, I finally find somebody truly entertaining to make squirm.

Half a dozen burly men with rippling muscles and angry scowls run out of the hole I've made. This is the most moronic action they could ever take. They could have sent one man out to do a sweep. They could have waited for me to come to them. They could have thrown out a grenade of some sort. Of all the things they could have done, they choose rushing me. Never ambush anyone with a ranged weapon from afar; it won't end well.

I run backwards as I aim and take out four of the guys running at me with various trick arrows before they come close enough to pose a threat. The fifth man is pushing a large wheeled cage and trying to make his exit without me noticing.

Ah. So they aren't as idiotic as I first thought; the ambush was an attempt to cover this man's escape with that cage. It would have been a good plan if they were facing a more typical combatant instead of me. I'd bet that whatever is that cage must be worth their desperate cry for me to crack their skulls.

"Don't you dare move," I snarl at the fleeing man. I pull my bow string taunt. "Or else." His eyes waver as I stare him down and he turns to the sixth man for orders.

The sixth man, I now notice, isn't a strongman like the others. His greasy blonde hair is clinging to his forehead. Lines of sweat track down the side of his face and pit-stains yellow his lab coat. Stepping over the body of the closest henchman, I back away from the the sixth man while still aiming at the fifth. I let loose my netting arrow and trap the brawnier one with it.

The remaining man looks like he's been working somewhere that was burning up. As much as I wish that he just exited a torturous visit to hell, it makes more rational sense for the scientist to be coming back from some sort of lab or radiation containment chamber or even a boiler room...shit. Call me genre savvy because no one in an action movie ever goes in the boiler room unless...

"We've rigged the place to blow, Batlady," he tells me what I already know. Wait, what did he just say?

"Batlady? One, I am not a lady and furthermore just because I'm in Gotham doesn't mean Bat-" Oh. I fell for his misdirection. Right now there's nothing I want more than to make this guy writhe and squirm like his bulky buddy within my net. I turn on my comm, hopefully more surreptitiously than reptitiously.

"You okay about leaving your friends in here? How long before the place goes up in smoke, Doc?" I ask him for the benefit of my linked up teammates.

I need KF's speed to get the henchmen out to safety. I figure I have only minutes to take this techie down, wrestle that cage out the door, and flee from the explosion with my friends. KF will have to save these henchmen. Robin was right about needing Wally's speed on this mission.

"What? Artemis, what's going on," Wally asks. I don't bother explaining because I'm sure Robin will figure it out soon. The lab worker squints his eyes as he answers my question.

"Not long enough for you to win."

"And, winning for me would be?" I bait him to keep talking. I'd like to catch him in an old trick as payback for slipping me up before.

"All the evidence and research will be destroyed; there's nothing you can pin on us."

"Except trying to kill me just now?" Something in the cage stirs and begins to growl. The scientist watches my smirk with disdain. "So, if I had that dog, I wouldn't be ruining your whole operation or anything?" He rubs his calloused knuckles anxiously. Wait. No. He as the blaster out before I can react.

Right about now _everyone_ could use some easing of pressure. Somebody needs to trap this guy and rescue that dog before the place goes down in pieces. I don't see anyone available to help but me.

I make another snap decision. I'm going to surrender.

"I surrender," I whisper as I reptitiously pull my hands past my pockets and into the open. The villain smirks pridefully.

"You think you're so stealthy with that slight of hand of yours." He pumps his hand. "Give it here."

I toss him ten little metal devices. They clatter to the floor. My eyes dare him to make a move. He shoots his weapon and, anticipating this, I manage to doge the blast.

As I escape his attack, he scoops up my tech. Swirling around with an arrow at the ready, I find that we're both aiming our weapons, are respective trigger fingers itching.

I laugh, falling to bits right in front of him. He's startled by my attitude and is surprised once again when he finds his hands are glowing green. I answer the question I know he wants to ask.

"Those are my pseudo-castanets." He frowns and the devices give a burst which shorts out his weapon. There's a proper usage to new technology. (Throwing my toys around and then activating them without proper hand-wear doesn't really match that description.)

My arrow leaves the bow and then the perp is on the floor beneath my foot by the time Kid Flash zooms in with Dick.

"What's the status with the explosion?" I may have succeeded in my part, but there's no telling what trouble they've run into.

"Couldn't turn it off," Wally says. He looks to his wrist at an imaginary watch. "We've got another two minutes."

Robin fills me in while KF rounds up all the people on the floor.

"I hacked into some really deep files. All their stuff up ground is disposable. Their main research," he turns to my improvised door,"would be done there." Robin notices the cage. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Dog," I mutter as I begin examining the caged animal. It snarls and shakes its cage violently. I stumble backwards when it snips and knock into Robin and his holo-computer. He grunts and pushes me back upright. The holo-display returns and dumps a load of information. Robin points to the screen.

"They wanted to protect this one for a reason, Arty. He's their best trial. They _need _him," Robin says as he looks over his options for sedating the dog. "The DNA is mutated. The serum worked fully for him and yet he's healthy."

Robin holds up a red and yellow caplet and one green pill. I point to the green one so he mockingly picks the alternative.

"Wally?" Robin calls our teammate back over the comm. Kid Flash appears and Robin tosses him the caplet.

"Feed the dog."

"Why me?"

"HA-healing," Robin explains in one word. Kid scowls but grabs the dog by its collar anyways. He shoves the pill down its throat before the canine has time to even register that Wally has touched him.

"You don't sound too angry that the villains made their evil formula somewhat work." I probe Robin for answers.

"I've deleted all the data at this place, the lab's going to go up in flames and the only proof of concept is currently gnawing on KF's fingers."

Wally bites back the pain as he pulls the dog out of its cage.

The dog, now less enraged, is younger than I first thought. It's more like a puppy. A Great Dane mix puppy, but a puppy none the less.

Wally holds the mess of fur in his arms and it teethes on his hands.

"This dog...is mildly fascinated by how my flesh heals whenever he tears my skin."

"Aw, baby's got a curious mind." I'll never admit it, but I coo when I speak to the ragamuffin. (I hate cute things; they make me use the most ridiculous words.)

A low rumbling breaks into our conversation as the walls shake.

"We better go," Robin reminds us. He doesn't have to say so twice.

* * *

><p>We wait in front of the fiery building for a few minutes. Three patrol cars, a fire truck, and, eventually, the Batmobile arrive.<p>

"Souvenir!" Wally shouts, clutching the puppy to his chest. Of course Wally thinks the lab rat should be our pet.

Kid Flash spreads two fingers apart and happily shows a cop how the drool sticks between them. He blurs to Robin and rubs the wet and gooey goodness onto Robin's cape without him noticing. (Or at least he pretends not to, because his cape is so dirty at this point I've suggested he burn it.)

"What should we name it?" Wally asks excitedly. He rattles off a incomprehensible list of suggestions.

"His name is Ace," Dick says, pointing toward a sign on the wall. "We found him in building 4CE and that's l33t for Ace."

"You are such a dork," I say. We laugh and I take the gangly puppy from Wally. The redhead spits out the dog hairs from around his lips. Cute or not, I decide I'm better off not kissing the dog.

As I hold the dog, careful to not let him teethe on my fingers, I realize after all we've done today Robin has barely explained what this operation has to do with thanking Batman.

Batman approaches us with a confidant stride. Even after seeing him this way on multiple occasions it still sends a shiver up my spine. Ace licks my face as if sensing my bout of fear. Before Batman reaches us, I poke Rob on the arm.

"Rob, how does this thank him? He looks pissed that we went on this mission."

"Hand him the dog."

"What?"

"Give him the dog."

"I don't understand," I say flatly. Robin pushes me forward and I knock into a wall. A caped, black, brooding gargoyle of a wall. I thrust out my arms and give him the dog.

"Thank you?" I mumble, probably too quietly to hear. Dick rams an elbow into my gut to nudge me along. "His name is Ace," I inform Batman.

Batman stares at Ace and holds him improperly. I get the feeling that he does not like dogs. Maybe he's a cat person. (I've heard enough things about him and Catwoman that it wouldn't surprise me.)

I trusted Dick's planning because he understands Batman and is the teams tactics expert. This was a mistake. This was a terrible, terrible plan.

"We don't need a dog, Robin," Batman says moodily.

"I don't. You do," Dick retorts.

Batman does not like dogs. Dick is a liar. He is a terrible trolling liar.

Batman chews us out for going on such a risky mission without informing anyone and without proper backup. I take this as an offense (I am excellent backup) but keep my mouth shut. Batman finishes criticizing our actions and switches gears.

"You all will not be making a habit of this. The team is suspended temporarily," he says. "Still, you achieved your objective well."

I look up from my feet then and notice Ace is sleeping in the crook of Batman's arm. Ace's breathing makes Batman's cape twirl gracefully. I almost think for an instant as I look at Batman holding this puppy so gently and basically commending us for rescuing Ace that maybe Batman _does_ like dogs. Maybe, if I'm lucky, Dick is right and this is the way to thank my hero.

I almost have convinced myself when the dog pees... on Batman... in front of everyone. Even our captured criminals in the back of the patrol cars notice.

I don't think I can get anymore mortified.

What is a better way of saying thank you than an overgrown mutt peeing all over your cape while everyone stares? (The answer is _anything _else.)

So, not only do I have to thank Bruce Wayne/Batman for my scholarship, now I will also have to make up to him for this_ accident.  
><em>

My eyes fall on the wet puddle beneath Batman's cape. Robin's cape may be dirty from my mud, Wally's tears, and the dog's drool, but Batman's is significantly worse. I suddenly pity Dick's butler.

As I watch Robin squirm under my accusing glare, I think about who else should help me next time because, well, Dick isn't all that helpful in the end.


	4. Cave Caveat

**Part Five: Cave Caveat**

* * *

><p>When it comes to being honest with myself, I tend to earn a D for disaster (heavy on the dis). This is why I've made a resolution to reevaluate my actions before I take them. This is why I pause when KF asks to come with me instead of his best friend Dick.<p>

"Please, Artemis?" he begs with his hands clasped in prayer. "I'll even shut up, okay? Just don't make me go…with him." He jerks his head towards Batman and Robin.

And now I get it. Wally hasn't suddenly decided to swamp Robin out as his BFF. He just wants to avoid sitting in on Robin's awkward Batmobile ride home. Smirking, I causally rub the metal tip of an arrow and contemplate my reflection. "I don't know, KF. Rob really looks like he could use the company," I point towards Dick with the fairly shinier arrow tip, "just look at him."

Wally unclasps his hands. Slowly, he turns around to face what he knows he will see. Robin is no longer holding Ace in a cuddle. Now, he holds him awkwardly with his hands under the dog's armpits and its butt dangling in the air an arm's length away from his person.

I really don't see why Dick's afraid to get peed on; that cape can't get any worse.

Wally groans as the guilt seeps into him. "I know he's my bro…I should be there for him…"

"Yes. Yes, you should."

Wally glares. "If anyone should be there for him," Wally pokes me in the arrow insignia on my chest, "then it's you. We went on this mission because of you, after all."

"Dick's the one who chose the mission. Besides, why did you even have to tag along with either of us? Can't you just," I push my hand through the air, "vroom away?"

"Not without it looking like I'm running away when things get tough," Wally explains.

I could just say no. I could refuse because I don't like him and don't care about how badly it looks like he's ditching his bro. Or, I could remind myself that somewhere, underneath a lot of rational thought and common sense, is a warm and fluffy part of myself which I'd rather tend to ignore. It's that cuddly center that makes me like Wally and care about him even when he logically should annoy me to death. "Okay, you can come with me. But, if Rob asks, you tell him you bailed."

Wally smiles. "Cool! Where are we going?"

It's comments like these that make me wish Ace would come back over here and rip out all my fluffy center so that I'd stop making the wrong decisions. "You wanted to come with me without even know where I'm going? I can't believe you, Wally." I roll my eyes. "I'm going to Mt. Justice to explain to the team that we've been put off duty. It's going to be a lovely, not at all awkward conversation and you," I poke Wally in his insignia the way he did to me, "are going to kindly help me explain."

Somehow I think it's comments like these that make Wally wish Ace would come back over here and rip me to shreds. Wally fakes a smile. "Great! I love explaining how I screwed up. It's like my hobby…" His fake smile flips into a frown. "Or something," he mutters.

"Oh, I almost forgot. You've got to carry me to the boom tube," I say. Before Wally can argue, I add, "You wouldn't want to end up at the Cave first and have to start explaining without me."

Wally clamps his hands together to make a foot hold and I push myself up and into his arms. I wrap my arms around his neck and smile up to him. "Kid Pony, giddy up."

* * *

><p>Not that I'm one to say it aloud, but Wally has nice hair and not just because it's red. His hair looks like he's given it some care even if he's usually sporting the windblown look (which is necessity as a speedster I suppose). In fact, as Kid Pony gallops me to the zeta tube, I catch a whiff of a particularly fruity shampoo treatment that shows true passion for his tresses. I realize that Wally and I might have something in common. We both appreciate a good hairdo.<p>

Not that I'm one to brag, but my hair is the full bodied perfection than many women (and even some guys) throughout the world would kill to have. I take pride in every single sunflower strand that I've fitted into my ponytail. Because I'm a practical person, I understand that my long ponytail has practical purposes. Mostly, I use it as a weapon. Toss. Toss. Whiplash across some poor sucker's face. Oh, sorry. Didn't see you there.

Kid Pony appreciates the importance of hair care. He also, as a pony, should appreciate an amazing ponytail when he sees one. This connection we have, it should be the end of our cold war. It should be the beginning of something new. Except it isn't.

Wally stops dead in his tracks and drops me off a good leg away from the Cave. "Okay, I've had it. I don't care what our deal was," Wally rubs rapid circles into his cheek bones, "but I've had enough running with your hair thingamajig gaining sentience and attacking me for one night."

"I hit you? I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there!"

Wally removes his goggles just so he can glare at me for a good thirty-nine seconds which must mean he's really mad at me since that is the most time I've seen Wally stay focused on doing one thing without getting distracted. "Whatever, Artemis. You can walk the rest of the way yourself. I'm going to go grab a bite," Wally says before he ditches me in a cloud of dust.

"Fine. But I'm making glue out of you Kid Pony if it's the last thing I do," I mutter.

Since Kid Glue dumps me on the stretch of beach that Mt. Justice sits along, I have some time alone with my thoughts. I have to figure out how to break it to the team that we're off duty because of my mistakes with the whole Ace fiasco. And explaining that fact isn't going to make any sense without explaining why I went on the Ace mission which means I'm going to spill that I'm trying to thank Batman. That explanation is incomplete without the details of how Batman gave me a scholarship which I do not want to get into because, besides making be look like a charity case, it also involves me knowing Bats' secret identity.

I'm pretty sure if giving Batman a dog got the team suspended then revealing his alter ego will get me sent to Guantanamo Bay. I don't want to go to Gitmo. Some of my dad's friends are in there. I sigh. I haven't even known Batman's identity for a week and he's already got me fearing for the worse.

This is one of those times when I really wish Ollie was my fairy godmother so that he could just poof in, wave a wand, give me some advice, and then poof off. Honestly, right now I'd do with advice from anybody. Well, not Kid Glue or Robin, the Boy Whelmer. I'd prefer somebody more mature like one of the so called mentors.

My brain cells do some quick chemical reactions. Roll call: Red Tornado, Black Canary, Batman, and Captain Marvel. These are the primary mentors of our Jr. Justice League.

Red Tornado, as much as I respect the guy, still freaks me out after the whole Cave invasion and everyone almost dying thing. Batman is out of the question considering he's part of my worries. Canary runs the risk of sending me to Ollie to deal with my issues which isn't for the best considering Ollie might just be lost in a never ending giggle fit the second he hears about Ace peeing on Batman's cape. I can't do that to Star City. I can't make their hero the laughing stock of the country (if not the world).

So, in the end, that leaves the Captain. He will have some good advice. He may be…offbeat, but he _is _part of the League and part of our team. I consider him my friend.

* * *

><p>I find Captain Marvel playing with Wolf in a cove along the beach. The Big Red Cheese tries to tug the end of a rotting log from Wolf's iron grip, but loses balance. I look to Wolf expectantly. The overgrown mutt growls and trots off with the log. I offer the Captain a helping hand. "Dogs suck," I comment.<p>

Captain Marvel smiles broadly. "Aw, I wouldn't say anything like that. He's a good dog. He just likes Superboy better than me," Marvel presses his lips together, "which is fine. I don't really mind."

"Right. You're too cool for that."

Marvel's smile brightens. "You really think so?"

"I really, really think so," I tell him and, before I know it, he has me held tightly in a bear hug. "You're squeezing the life out of me, Big Red."

"Sorry, Arty."

"It's a thing of the past…but, if you're feeling charitable, I could use some advice."

Captain Marvel cocks his head to the side. "Is something wrong?" He fingers the tassels of his costume absentmindedly in the way he always does.

I've become Captain Marvel's, for lack of a better word, babysitter on the team. It may have something to do with the fact that I'm the newbie. Dick, Wally, Kal, Conner, and Megan all put me in charge of him. I guess it goes back to all those days when the rest of the team just wanted to get rid of him. Not because they're mean, but since he's a tattle tale when it come to the League.

I don't think Big Red ever wants to tell on us. In fact, the last thing he'd ever want is to be in our bad graces. Cap always does everything that he thinks will make us his friends. He's like a schoolboy invited into the clubhouse with the big kids. Still, he is also more than that. He's a hero for good reason. And that's precisely why he has to tell the truth. Captain Marvel isn't one to lie even if it's only a lie of omission.

So, knowing all of this about him, it is easy to become a little guilty for pushing him away. I've noticed how my highly flammable fluffy heart parts get after I see his broken eyes…or rather don't. He tends to duck his head and look to his feet, hiding his gaze from our view whenever we send him off.

I can remember one time in particular when I stopped and thought about how it would feel to be in his shoes.

"_Yeah, you're right guys. I'll just go," Captain Marvel kicked a clod of wet sand across the beach, "make another sand castle." He started sulking away._

_No one else seemed to mind. Not even M'gann. "Megan?" I caught her attention. "Tell me what Captain Marvel's thinking right now." _

_Kaldur tried to struggle out from under the sand entombment Wally and Dick were building over him. He settled for spitting some sand out of his mouth. "I do not believe that we should invade his privacy."_

"_I'd explain," I shook my head, "if I was convinced you could hear me under there." With one foot I kicked Dick in the back; he fell nose first into the sand and tasted the grimy particles between his teeth. I kept him pinned down and motioned for Conner to stop Wally as well. _

_Conner glanced to M'gann. He only dragged Wally away from Kaldur when she nodded for him to go along with what I'd said. As Wally thrashed about, he kicked up dunes of sand. We all coughed._

_I stopped coughing and spoke up as soon as Kaldur's ears were above Wally and Dick's sand pile. "I think that Captain Marvel actually is hurt by us blowing him off."_

_Dick spat sand at me. "Why would anyone care about what you think?" _

"_Uh," I removed my foot, "sorry. I forgot you were down there."_

"_Yeah, I figured," Dick replied. "Seriously though, why would a grown-up care about how much he gets to hang out with us?"_

_I shrugged. "I don't know. He doesn't really act like an adult. I mean…he even values Wally's opinion—"_

"_Hey!"_

"_It's almost like he's younger than us even…" _

_Wally scoffed. "How would that be possible? Does he take magic steroids?" _

"_You'd think after all our interaction with Doctor Fate and the Zataras he'd stop doubting magic," Dick grinned, "but he's just so stubborn. It's so adorable." Dick rubbed Wally's red hair much to Wally's chagrin. _

_M'gann closed her eyes as she sought out Captain Marvel's mind. "He is feeling quite depressed. He seems to wish he could come with us." Megan looked as pained as Captain Marvel as he slunk away._

_I growled. "This has to stop, you guys. I don't care what you think about him. He's doesn't deserve to get his feelings hurt because we're too lazy to get used to a new person."_

_Wally groaned. "Okay, okay. We'll start treating him better. But you've got to hang out with him when we really really can't have him tagging along."_

"_How does that make any sense? Everyone should have to get to know him. This is a tea—"_

"_You're the newbie; that makes it your job to be the welcome wagon," Robin insists._

"_Fine," I huffed. "But you guys owe me one."_

Looking at Captain Marvel now, I'm glad I was elected his buddy. He honestly waits in eager anticipation to hear me unload my problems. He's an amazing listener. "I messed up," I confess. "I was trying to say thank you to Batman." I'm not surprised when Marvel doesn't butt in; he doesn't think anyone needs a special reason to thank somebody. He's just that type of guy. I continue, "Robin suggested he, Wally and I go break up this evil lab tonight. There was this dog we rescued and I gave it to Batman. It peed all over him and now he's pissed, excuse the pun, at us all. He's put the team offline for now because of it. Everyone is going to hate me." As I speak, my voice gets softer. The long day catches up to me so I sink to the sandy floor.

Captain Marvel sits pretzel style beside me. "It's okay, Arty. You didn't mean to make trouble for anybody. You," he gives my hand a squeeze, "are a great person. That's why you were trying to be nice to Batman. He knows you care and didn't want to…mess up his clothes. I'm sure he only gave us all a time out because he's worried. He can't like it when you do missions all by yourselves in the middle of the night. You could have gotten hurt."

"I know. I should have been more careful," I say. Marvel's eyes prod me so I add, "And I _will _be more careful, in the future."

My friend whistles for Wolf to return. "The team will understand. They'll forgive you. You don't have to worry about telling them." He pats Wolf on the back as he bounds over to us. "If you want, I can help you tell them we're in time out," he offers.

"You're always the proper gentleman, you know that?" I ask him. I don't wait for his response. "I need to do this myself, Big Red. I think I'll round up everybody and tell the first thing. It's like a Band-Aid." I pinch my skin and jerk away in a ripping gesture. "You get it done quickly and it stings less."

Captain Marvel nods. "I'm still coming with. I wouldn't want to leave you hanging."

I think back to all the times we left Marvel alone or sent him off or used him as a butler. Compared to me and Wally leaving Dick with Batman earlier, Marvel is the best friend anyone could ever have. The thing I love most about him is that he's easy to thank. "Captain?"

"Yup, Arty?"

I pull him into another bear hug. "How about we put off the Band-Aid ripping until tomorrow morning. For now, let's do something fun."

"You wanna have a slumber party?" he asks. "It's so late already anyway."

"Yeah. Let's do that. You deserve it." I release him from the hug. "Thanks for being there for me."

"No problem. Hey," he pulls us up to our feet, "can we play kick the can?"

"Sure thing." I smile as we walk back to the Cave. Wolf tags along behind us. "There's just one more thing I want to tell you before we go inside," I pause and he nods for me to go on, "I want to tell you that you're the most mature guy I know, Billy."

He gives me another bear hug and I'm thankful for the support even if it makes my fluffy center a bit too fluffed for my tastes.

* * *

><p>I barely manage to exit the zeta beam with my clothes changed. I'm still wearing my combat boots and the sweatpants look awkward over by costume. At this point, I really don't care if I look like an idiot. As long as my outfit hides my heroics to the average passerby then I'm fine with it. Going home and pretending last night never happened is all I want right now.<p>

Billy was right about the team being understanding when I told them first thing in the morning that I'd gotten us suspended. I was happy that they didn't hold it against me. At first at least. Now, I'm thinking differently.

Before, I was worried they'd ask me _why_ I wanted to thank Batman when I got to that part of the explanation. I was wrong. They didn't ask me. They didn't need to. They're all like Captain Marvel. They don't question needing to thank others. They don't have my black heart.

I'm such an idiot. Here I've been thinking that down underneath my callous and sarcastic side is a warm and tender hidden half, but it turns out what I consider fluff is actually just as jaded as the rest of me.

I couldn't thank somebody as much as I should even If I tried for the rest of my life. I don't have it in me. I'm a terrible person. It must be in the bloody genes.

I numbly mash the buttons to the elevator of my apartment complex and collapse inside as soon as the doors shut with a bright ping-ping. There's a feeling in the back of my mind; it is a tickle of an idea which makes me wonder if I'm forgetting something important and blatantly obvious.

I look down to the large sport bag that hides my bow and arrows. Normally I stash my stuff off my person, but I was too tired to deal with it today. Nothing is out of place; there's nothing to reveal my identity. Then what is the cause of this dread somewhere underneath my conscious mind?

The elevator pings once more as it brings me to my floor. I yawn and all but fall out the door.

I stop suddenly as the elevator begins to slam its doors close. My hand catches the doors and they automatically re-open. I open my eyes, now fully awake, and look over the insides of the elevator.

This is not the same elevator. It's shiny and new and all its buttons light up. It is missing the dated grill over its doors and it doesn't make your stomach roll as you ride it. The most important and obvious difference is that this elevator _actually works_. How the hell did this get here?

I wanted to hide that the elevator was broken until it was fixed, but I didn't even call Mom and tell her to spend another night at her boyfriend's place. She must have already used this thing. Someone made sure that it would be fixed before she got here. It sure as hell wasn't me. I was too busy increasing the cost of Batman's dry cleaning bill and playing kick the can.

This is all too much. I'm embarrassed and tired and frustrated enough as it is. I focus my breathing and relax my tense muscles. With a swift gesture, I re-enter the elevator and ride it to the ground floor.

Outside its doors is a small and hardly notable little plaque. In tiny block letters it reads: THIS ELEVATOR WAS UPDATED IN ASSOCIATION WITH THE GREEN WORLD BUILDING INITIATIVE FOR THE BETTERMENT OF OUR EARTH.

I should have seen this coming. I pick at the green paint over the engraved letters of the plaque. The paint chips and wedge down into the crevice between my finger nails and my skin.

Green World Building Initiative screams of Green Arrow's money. I don't even feel the need to find the paper trail to prove my point. I just know I'm right.

Sometimes, I give Roy a hard time, but he has a point when it comes to Queen's arrogance.

I take that back. I promised I'd stop lying to myself and calling this arrogance is just wrong. This isn't arrogance; instead, this is more like compassion. Ollie broke his promise to stop meddling in my life, but only because I slipped up. I was too busy to fix this problem and when it fell under the cracks, Ollie was there to be my safety net.

Procrastination can bite you in the ass. I should have done something for Ollie before he gave me another reason to be in his debt. Even if this thank you is long overdue, I'm going to give it to him.

At least Ollie isn't so intimidating compared to having to thank the Big Bad Bat. After all, Ollie_ is_ my personal mentor so I should understand him better than Batman.

Ollie really wants more than anything else in the whole wide world, once I think about it and evaluate each option with a weighted pro versus con chart, something fairly obvious…It's really easy to know what he wants. In fact, it's so easy I shouldn't bother because it would involve so little effort to help him that it's hardly a gesture of gratitude.

I can almost buy my excuse. I just need to let the shiny automatic doors of this elevator bang against my head repeatedly to shave a few unnecessary I.Q. points off my score.

This is why I hate thanking people. This is why I think I can't. Honestly, I have no idea what Ollie wants.

My feet push me back a few steps away from the elevator just in case I give into the temptation to make this all easier. My intelligence and perception are the only things that can help me now.

I just need to think.

Okay, so logic dictates that I've been in this position before. I didn't know how to thank Batman so I asked Dick for help since he knows Bruce better. That plan would have worked if Dick wasn't being a moron. Hell, maybe that plan did work; Batman did take Ace home with him even after the incident.

So if I needed Dick to help me with Bruce then who do I need to help me with Oliver?

I take back those steps away from the elevator and bang my head once against its doors as soon as I come to my conclusion. Ouch. The redness from my previous run in with a door reappears. I really hate the color red. It only reminds me of _him _and how I need his help.

I'm sure Red Arrow will love to help _me_ do something nice for _Ollie_ since he gets along so well with the both of us and all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Pairing suggestions, please keep to Roy or Dick or gen. I had an inexcusable amount of typos; I think I've gotten them fixed. If you notice more, please tell me.**  
><strong>

If you've reviewed what was chapter four under the old numbering then you will not be able to review this new chapter four. Logging out to leave a review solves this problem**_._**_**  
><strong>_


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